pairing: art donaldson x cam girl!reader
kinktober â¸â¸ exhibitonism (kind of)
summary: after thinking you'd never get to be in a relationship because of your line of work, you finally have art, who is willing to go as far as live-streaming with you if it makes you happy.
tags: smut, established relationship, oral(f receiving), reader thinks he secretly dislikes her job, art loves what she does because SHE does it, sex on camera, art finishes just from eating her out, biblically accurate art who whimpers, they both love eachother a lot :)
notes: hi :) I had to do a LOT of research for this day lol, but i'm excited because I think this is my favorite one shot from the ones i've posted! english is not my first language, so pls be kind ! this one shot is inspired by a c.ai bot I saw a while ago with another character, not art and YET i absolutely loved it!! i cant remember who did it, yet i'm looking for it so if you've seen it, let me know so I can credit the author!!
also the usernames that are supposed to be customers are actually my friends usernames here on tumblr lol, it's just a little easter egg to include them <3
When you first met Art, you were scared your job would be a turn off.
I mean, how many guys would like to date a girl whose primary income came from live-streaming and fulfilling people's sick fantasies?
You can still remember the face he made when you sat him down on your apartment, which to be fair he stayed over so often it was practically his as well, and the reaction he had when you told him the reason you had so much money was not because of your father, but because you were a cam girl.
It took days for him to get used to the idea of his girlfriend having that type of job, and even though he eventually accepted it, still, a lingering feeling of uncertainty remains within you.
What if you had ruined your relationship because of it?
What if he suddenly broke up with you?
Your thoughts were cut off by his soft voice, wide eyes staring back at you as if he had somehow, somewhere done something wrong.
Just now, in the middle of a busy coffee shop, he had asked you if he could live-stream with you.
Art. Your sweet, soft spoke, innocent boyfriend Art.
Your first instinct was to deny him completely. There was no way you'd let other people see him in such an intimate moment. It was one thing to expose yourself already, but let others see him?
See the way his eyelids tremble when you tell him just how good he's fucking you? The way his lips part when he's buried deep inside you, a sweet moan leaving them just when he is about to cum?
No. There is no way he'd do a live stream with you.
But the way he was looking at you now, like his whole word depended on your answer, like if you said no he would be heartbroken. You just couldn't say no.
But, it doesn't mean you'll say yes.
"Art, baby..." You started, hesitating. "It's just...I promise to think about it, but why do you want to do this?"
The wide, hopeful look on his face didn't falter, but a faint flush rose on his neck, creeping up toward the collar of his simple gray tee. He reached across the small, sticky table and took your hand, his thumb tracing the line of your knuckles.
"I know it's a lot," he murmured, leaning in a little so you had to strain to hear him over the cafĂŠ's espresso machine, "but I've been thinking about it a lot lately. You've told me how much your subscribers like the stories you tell about us, right? How they like hearing about... our life."
You nodded slowly. It was true. The mundane, sweet details; his clumsy attempts to bake, the movie nights, the pet names were often the biggest tippers.
They wanted the fantasy of the normal relationship layered over the cam girl excitement.
"Well, it's not just that," he continued, squeezing your hand tighter. "I want to be part of your life, all of it. I know you doubt me, and I want to wipe that out. I want to show you, and them, that I'm serious about you, about us."
He swallowed, his innocent eyes meeting yours with a sudden, devastating vulnerability.
"And... I want to support you. I want them to see how much I enjoy you," he finished, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper that sent a jolt of panic through your system. "I want them to know that I love the things we do together, and that I'm proud of you. I don't want you to have to do the heavy lifting alone anymore."
His words struck you like a physical blow.
He wasn't talking about playing video games or having an innocent Q&A. He was talking about exposing his body, his innocence, and his deepest moments to thousands of strangers, people who paid to see you scream his name.
This wasn't support; this was a terrifying, naive offer to jump into the deep end of your morally gray world.
The uncertainty in your chest didn't vanish; it curdled into a cold, protective rage. He was too sweet, too good, and far too vulnerable. He didn't understand the eyes that would watch him, or the comments they would leave.
"Art," you said, pulling your hand away, the small act a desperate reassertion of a boundary you suddenly felt vanishing. "Do you have any idea what you're asking?"
His other hand moved over to steady yours, the trembling motion that you hadn't even noticed quickly ceasing, and his eyes now held a determination that made it impossible to look away.
"I know what I'm asking," He repeated, making sure to drag each syllable just to prove his point. "And I know I want to do it, with you."
That's how you found yourself, a few hours later, sitting in the middle of your bed.
The atmosphere you had before filming had become eerily familiar. Your laptop perched on a small chair in front of you, a tiny webcam clasped above it, pointed in just the right angle so your tits looked awesome.
Next to it was a small microphone, and a piece of plastic beneath it just in case some one wanted you to fuck yourself with it and you had to cover it, and a small box of tissues along side it.
The lights were set low, the soft, red uplighting you preferred for your videos that turned your skin into a molten bronze. You had already changed into the simple black lace set that had been specially requested for tonight's stream. Everything was perfect. Everything was normal.
Except for the space beside you, always empty yet now filled with a guest.
He was wearing an old, too-soft white cotton tee and a pair of worn-out boxers, the kind of comfortable, normal clothes he slept in. He wasn't wearing an elaborate costume, just Art, unvarnished and innocent.
He smiled, a wide grin that always made your heart do a ridiculous flutter. He reached out and gently ran his fingers over the lace on your thigh.
"What do we do first?" he whispered, his eyes wide and bright. He looked utterly unaware of the magnitude of the cliff he was about to jump off of.
His eagerness, his total lack of self-consciousness, was almost unbearable. He was treating this like a surprise date night, not a public, sexual performance for thousands of strangers.
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. He didn't understand the eyes that were about to watch him, or the vulgar comments they would flood the screen with. You wished you had the courage to tell him to put his clothes on and walk away, to keep this one part of your life protected.
But you didn't. You only had enough courage to log in.
"First," you said, your voice barely a rasp, "we go live."
You hit the broadcast button. The view count instantly began to climb, and the chat window, which you could only see on the laptop screen, turned into a blur of text. For the first time ever, you weren't looking at your fans. You were looking at Art, waiting for him to see what he had just walked into.
He turned to you, confusion and excitement battling on his face. "Should I say hello, or something?"
You didn't answer immediately. You were scanning the feed, your eyes already trained to filter out the noise and hone in on the high-value requests, and confirming your current goal chart, which flashed in a corner of the screen.
You had your usual list of challenges, dares, and other new goals set up:
250 Tokens: You both do a shot.
500 Tokens: For you to strip.
1,000 Tokens:Â A full make-out session on camera.
2,500 Tokens:Â Anal beads inserted.
5,000 Tokens:Â Viewer's choice.
A new message flashed, bold and highlighted at the top of the chat, signaling a massive, five-hundred-dollar tipâor rather, a 5,000 token tip.
[BERRYWVS] has tipped 5,000 Tokens! â NEW REQUEST: I want to see your boyfriend get naked!! Show us what you get every night ;)
The chat was already moving too fast, a blur of fire emojis and shocked, demanding comments. "DO IT! DO IT! STRIP HIM!"
Art didn't see the specific tokens yet. He was still grinning at the crowd, waving a little. "Hi everyone! Thanks for having me!"
"Art," you said, your voice flat, trying to keep the panic out of your tone. You reached out and gently nudged his chin so he was facing the screen, forcing him to read the pinned request. "Look at the amount."
The moment he saw the number, the smile evaporated. His soft blue eyes went wide, reading the token amount and the explicit demand. His hands instinctively moved to grip the collar of his white T-shirt.
He looked at you, a silent question screaming in his expression:Â Is this what we do?
You swallowed hard, your mind racing. This was exactly what you had feared. It was too fast, too aggressive. You felt a wave of nausea, yet that money, that was a full month's rent.
"It's the final goal, Art," you whispered, trying to sound encouraging. "They're excited to see you. Just the shirt for now."
He hesitated for only a second, the naive shock in his face giving way to that determined, lovesick vulnerability you knew so well. He wanted to be a part of this. He wanted to prove he could do it.
He slowly pulled his hands from his collar, looked at the camera, and then with a quick, nervous motion he yanked the cotton shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His chest, pale and slightly flushed, was now visible to thousands.
The chat exploded. The sudden sight of your famously unseen boyfriend, unvarnished and bare, caused the viewer count to spike higher than you had ever seen it.
"Oh wow, that really worked!" Art whispered, a genuine, astonished grin breaking through his anxiety as he saw the numbers climb.
Before the initial wave of cheers and heart emojis could subside, another massive notification flashed. The amount was even higher, a 10,000 token tip, and the request was no longer about simple nudity.
[MOONSVLE] has tipped 10,000 Tokens! â NEW REQUEST: I want to see Art eating you out :PP
Your breath hitched. This was the moment of truth.
Art read the request, his eyes fixed on the screen. The flush on his neck deepened, and the initial excitement gave way to a deep, complex expression, part mortification, part acceptance. He didn't look at you for direction. He looked at the camera, and then down at your black lace outfit.
"Ten thousand tokens," he murmured, his voice sounding oddly hollow and far away. He reached out and cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks.
He spoke directly into the small microphone, his voice husky and sincere, but you could tell the words were just for you. "I told you I was here to show everyone how much I love you, didn't I?"
He didn't wait for your reply.
He slid off the bed, his bare chest catching the red light, and knelt down between your legs, exactly where the camera had the best, most revealing view. He looked up at you one last time, that pure, lovesick vulnerability returning to his eyes, before he gently spread your thighs.
"Just incase you still doubted," he whispered, placing a soft kiss on your inner thigh, "just how much I accept what you do."
The next sound that filled the microphone was his soft whine.
He gently pulled the fabric of your lingerie aside, eyes wide and teary as he stared at your pussy, a look on his face that told you he might just blur out a string of thank you's for letting him taste you if it weren't for the camera.
His fingers reached out, trembling slightly from excitement, as they lightly traced your slick folds. You could sense his nervousness in the way he shifted and tried to move out of the way, letting your viewers get a glimpse of your core, proudness practically coming of him in waves as he reveled in the fact that only him get to have it.
He dipped his head, his lips warm and soft against your clit, causing a surprised, ragged sound to escape your throat, a sound the microphone greedily captured. His breath hitched against your wet skin, a sound of pure adoration, as he placed light kisses on your flesh.
He didn't rush. He was deliberate, almost reverent, as if he were cataloging every sensation.
"Art..." You softly whispered, eyes lightly open as you stared at him intently. You gave him a soft nod, encouraging him to continue, to let go of his nervousness.
You could hear him take a deep breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulder at your sign.
His tongue flickered out to taste you, a low groan leaving his lips as it made contact with your glistening sex. His movements were slow, sweet, and focused, moving back and forth, taking his time to savor you.
Art could feel himself getting harder just from the taste of you, the slight sweet yet musky scent that always made it hard for him to stay away from between your legs.
And just for a second, he even liked the idea of this livestream, if it meant he got to do this more often. He could eat you out for days if you'd let him, spending days buried deep into your pussy seemed the closes thing to heaven he could think off.
Slowly, he began to use more pressure. Soft, languid licks became tighter, insistent circles around your clit and deep thrusts from his tongue into your wet hole.
Obscene, loud moans were coming out of your mouth, mixing with the soft whimpers that escaped his, muffled by your flesh. Your eyes fluttered shut with every flick of his tongue, every lick and every sound as he devoured you.
Art always ate you out like he had been craving it all the time. Like he was always waiting diligently for permission, as if all his worries would go away as soon as he focused on your taste.
He didn't stop to breathe. He was lost in the flavor and the feeling of your thighs clenching around his head. He felt the rush of heat from your core, the scent of musk and sugar flooding his senses.
You felt your body begin to tremble, the sensation escalating past your control. The rhythmic slaps of his tongue against your pussy grew faster, his breathing turning ragged, amplified to a desperate rasping sound by the microphone.
He lifted his head just an inch, his eyes immediately searching for the laptop screen, catching the blur of the comments and the escalating tip counter. That fleeting glimpse of the audience watching his success was the final trigger. The knowledge that thousands were witnessing his fervent worship pushed him over the edge of control.
He dropped his head back down, his mouth returning to your cunt with renewed, frantic force. A low, guttural noise ripped from his throat, a sound of shame and triumph colliding. The soft whimpers that had been escaping him became more ragged, more urgent.
His dick, already rock-hard, was now pressing viciously against the thin cotton of his boxers. The rough fabric rubbed against the sensitive head of his cock with every involuntary flex of his hips, and a dark, wet stain of pre-cum spread rapidly across the grey material. The tightness of the cloth around his swollen length was pure torture, the pressure agonizing, yet he couldn't stop the movement.
His movements became sloppy, urgent, and fueled purely by instinct. The rhythmic, delicate strokes of his tongue turned into frantic, wide, open-mouthed demands against your clit.
He stopped focusing on technique and simply devoured you, desperate to make you come, desperate to release the pressure building in his own cock.
You felt the immediate, chaotic shift. Art's usual precision, the slow, worshipping drag of his tongue, the gentle pauses, was gone.
Now, his face was buried deep, his jaw working with a desperate intensity that bordered on violence. His tongue was a hot, frenzied blur against your nub, not giving you a second's rest. The wet, sucking sounds were deafeningly loud in the microphone, an explicit audio track to his breakdown.
You gasped, your hands flying from his hair to cover your own mouth, trying to stifle the raw, obscene moans that threatened to tear free. The feeling was too much, the combined weight of his raw need, the knowledge of the audience, and the relentless, driving force of his mouth pushing you to the absolute brink.
He began slamming his hips against the mattress, a sharp, quick, repetitive spasm of raw need. His bare chest heaved as he fought for breath, the sound of his struggle dominating the microphone.
He shifted his weight, grinding his pelvis into the bed, trying to find release through the worn cotton of his boxers, staining the sheet beneath his hips.
"Please," he choked out, the word muffled against your thigh, barely heard over the sound of his ragged breaths and the wet, frantic devotion of his mouth. "So, so good, pleaseâI can'tâ"
You felt your body freeze. A white-hot wave of orgasm came over you, tearing a sharp, raw scream from your lungs muffled by your hand, your thighs clenching around Art's head.
His hips slammed the mattress one final, hard time. He finished instantly, a violent shudder passing through his whole body. He stayed completely still, his tongue still pressed against you, until the last ripple of your own climax subsided.
He pulled back slowly, his chin and lips glistening with your scent. He collapsed, his damp forehead resting against your inner thigh, completely spent.
You pulled back your knees, swallowing hard. You glanced quickly at the laptop screenâthe tips were still pouring in.
You both knew you would never be able to erase this moment from the internet. And neither of you wanted to.
Despite the fact that hundreds of people were present, getting to see him eat you out and the living reminder of his devotion, you knew this moment was just for you.
His way of pleasing you. His way of showing you the extent of his love
Maybe he'll join you again sometime, just in case it still isn't clear.
